It was not a breeze
by Gumnut
Summary: It was a wind that howled.


It was not a Breeze

It was not a Breeze  
By Numnut  
Jul 2004

It was not a breeze, it was a wind that howled. Cold air, tossed off the ocean and thrown at the shore.

And it brought rain.

Icy needles. Sparse, but large, too heavy for the overburdened sky, caught by the angry air and pounded into the rocky ground, or lone human, whichever got in its way first.

He didn't notice.

He stood silent, the lonely sound of shattered waves underneath his feet, echoing up the cliff. A single soul standing against the elements as the roiling clouds threw what they could at him.

It shouldn't have happened.

But it had.

One bullet was all it took.

It was always was. A tiny slug of metal capable of slicing out whole chunks of his life in an eye blink. One day there wouldn't be any slices left, and there would be nothing left to take but life itself.

His legs were still unsteady, and the wind shook him, causing his body to waver in the wind.

"Michael."

He didn't answer.

He didn't want to.

It would never be the same.

"Michael."

Rainwater ran down his face, ignorant of the salty tears that raced it to his chin. She had been so young, so vibrant. And he had tried.

Tried, oh so hard.

"Michael."

He walked away.

The rocks were crumbly under his heels, slick, wet, slippery. He found he didn't care. He stumbled, his fingers scraping over cold limestone as he caught himself. He was far too close to the edge.

But still he didn't care.

"Michael!"

Kitt's voice was becoming more urgent, a note of panic at the edge of his electronic tenor. A small part of Michael's mind responded, yelling at himself to go back, return to his partner. Kitt would look after him.

But the rest of him screamed that he didn't deserve it.

He didn't deserve care.

He didn't deserve consideration.

He didn't deserve anything.

Because he hadn't been fast enough, good enough, anything enough.

And now she was dead.

Stones scattered under his now hurried footsteps, and suddenly he found himself running. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him, his ankles twisting as his feet caught on the uneven surface. It was inevitable, but no less surprising, when one of those crevices caught his step and threw him to the ground.

He landed hard, healing ribs screaming at him, his body shaking.

The ground was wet, rough, jagged, and poking at him. The rain continued to pelt down, the sea continued to sigh up the cliffside, the grey expanse of water disappearing into the rain soaked horizon. Blood pounded in his ears, and pain echoed up and down his body in beat to his heart.

He lay there and let the weather lap at his soul.

"Michael!!"

The whine of the Trans Am's engine crept up on him, and he fancied Kitt was poised just behind him. He could almost feel the scanner as it tracked back and forth.

"Damnit, Kitt! Go away!"

"I can't."

"While the hell not?!"

"Because you are my reason for living! And if you think you can throw yourself off a cliff for some misplaced sense of responsibility for something you could not have prevented, I feel I have the right to protest!"

Michael simply blinked, the world blurring for a moment.

He didn't want to talk.

He didn't want to live.

It was all just too damn painful.

Why him? Why did everything have to be taken away? Why was it dangled in front of him as an opportunity for happiness and then snatched beyond his grasp, never to return?

The ground was gritty against his cheek, and rain ran off the end of his nose.

"Michael, I'm still here."

His breath caught in his throat. Kitt was still here. Kitt would always be there, wouldn't he? Part of Michael taunted him with the possibility of losing Kitt, and his soul broke.

The sobs came slowly at first, finally joining the silent tears, but they only increased, shaking him, wracking him. He cried out into the rain, into the injustice of life, and that which had been taken.

The vision of her eyes, light dying as he held her, yelling at her to fight, even as her blood covered his hands, dripping silently onto the grass beneath.

She'd whispered his name.

And then she left.

His heart had broken.

Even as the cursed bastard responsible had raised the gun to caress his cheek, the cold barrel catching in the tears on his face, Michael lost everything he had and surrendered himself to fate.

He no longer wanted to fight.

It was a fight he couldn't win.

But where he had given up, one person had not. And as the gun was pressed into his cheekbone, it's wielder confidently muttering abuses, the sudden whine of turbines pushed beyond their limit broke the air. Kitt mounted the pavement, seemingly from out of nowhere, and took the legs from their assailant.

His name. Her name. The rumble of a stressed engine. His own blood running into his eyes, dripping from his face to mingle with hers on the grass.

Too late.

She was gone.

And so was he.

"Michael, please."

His heart hurt.

"Michael, I know it hurts. But please don't leave me."

He blinked.

Leave Kitt?

Had he thought of leaving Kitt?

He couldn't leave Kitt. The thought was drawn up from what remained of his rational mind. He couldn't leave Kitt. Kitt depended on him. Kitt was his partner in more ways than one.

And she had loved him too.

Memories.

She had sat on that ebony hood joking with the both of them. Loving the both of them. Accepting the both of them. She had known what they meant to each other, because they meant the same to her.

If only...

His throat was raw and his body cold, shivering in the weather, as he forced himself to sit up, still not turning back, still staring into the unforgiving grey of the ocean driven weather. A worried engine idled behind him.

"Kitt, I'm sorry." His voice grated in his throat.

"Michael?"

I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. I'm sorry I failed her. I failed you. The words wouldn't come.

"Michael, it wasn't your fault."

He forced back another sob, denial screaming at him.

"There wasn't anything you could have done."

"There had to have been." The wind whisked his whisper away.

"There wasn't, Michael."

"How do you know? You weren't there!" Ill-conceived anger mixed with his grief.

"Because if there had been something you could have done, you would have done it! I know you, Michael, perhaps better than you know yourself."

He felt his face crumple again. Oh, Kitt... The rumble behind him increased slightly, and suddenly the Trans Am's silky surface was pressed up against the back of his neck, its warm vibrations counteracting the shivers that crawled up and down his spine. "Please, Michael, she would never have wanted this."

He reached up a hand to touch the ebony shell behind him. Kitt was here. He would always be here. He had to be.

Because Michael knew he couldn't face the world alone anymore. It took too much.

"Kitt, you are everything to me, did you know that?"

The engine skipped a beat. "Michael?"

"Please don't leave me." He could barely hear himself, but he knew Kitt would anyway.

"Michael, you know the answer to that."

The soft tenor was reassuring as always.

The wind continued to howl up over the cliff, even though the rain was reducing itself to a morbid drizzle, and the sea still hissed her name. Bonnie...

Kitt was here.

-o-o-o-


End file.
